


Panic Buttons

by Ordinary_Magic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 22:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordinary_Magic/pseuds/Ordinary_Magic
Summary: Panic attacks in the Magical World are a bit more... dangerous.





	Panic Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> All rights belong to JKR, I'm just playing in her sandbox for a moment. No Hufflepuffs were harmed in the writing of this one-shot.

_In the darkness he undresses her, touching with those long, strong fingers. Her robe clasp was no impediment to his desires of Slytherin seduction. She felt the chill of the dungeon air meet warm flesh as he unbuttoned her blouse pulling it roughly from her shoulders and freeing more skin for his urgent need. It was scarcely fair - she was slowly yielding to his will yet pressed firmly against her back were the layers of cloth and so many buttons… His breath was hot and harder now in her ear, tickling the strands of hair escaping from the elastic holder. With a low, sensuous growl he bit into the hair tie and pulled it off, allowing him to bury his face in her curls and almost distracting her from those clever fingers parting the clasp of her bra. His caress carried the straps down her arms allowing the final layer of modesty to fall to the floor, this intimate unveiling choreographed in time with the commanding touch of his lips, teeth, and soft locks of long hair claiming her neck and throat as his…._

_“Oh, Professor… please - I can’t take any more!” she panted in building ecstasy._

_“Granger!” he called sharply in an odd, high-pitched voice. “You need to get up now, the carriages will be here in a few minutes. Let’s get a move on!”_

Hermione Granger bolted upright in bed. She’d only laid down to rest her eyes for a moment but somehow the rest of the morning had gone and the end of term carriages would come soon to take everyone to the train station. Lavender threw a look of disgust at her wrinkled school blouse and skirt, before leaving the room and continuing to round up strays. She felt a bit off kilter at the rough transition from dream to waking… _You mean dazed and turned on from your latest Potions & Passions fantasy?_ a traitorous part of her gloated.

“Shut up, already,” she muttered to the empty room. She could feel the flush in her cheeks at the lingering details of today’s imaginings. It would be a long summer away from classes, and Professors, and… **buttons**. 

Luckily, she’d finished packing for end of term last night, everything was ready except for a certain orange familiar. Unfortunately he’d taken one look at the travel basket and streaked away from the dorms and through the portrait doorway. Panting in real exertion this time, she rounded the corner just in time to see the orange cat moving at high velocity down the main staircase to the ground floor. 

She ran after Crookshanks passing by the boys’ bathroom when Peeves shot through the wall hovering in front of her gesturing excitedly, babbling about her cat drowning in the bathtub, following her as she pivoted into the deserted lavatory.

“In here! It’s under the water! Oh, the poor thing, is it too late?” he cried, bobbing and zooming in circles over the large six person tub. 

“Crooks? Crooks! Here, kitty-kitty!” she called, her voice high-pitched and cracking with fear. Leaning far over the edge and using both arms to sweep mounds of bubblebath from the water in front of her she didn’t notice Peeve’s cackle of triumph. 

“Peeves, I don’t see anything, are you sure he fell in?” she asked, peering intently through the bubble-less patches.

“Time for a bath! Rub-a-dub-dub - Ickle Gryffie’s in the tub!”

Manifesting solidly for just long enough he slammed into her back and forced her head under the water, pushing against her neck. 

The icy cold water closed over her head, filling her mouth, eyes, and ears. The shock of sudden submersion caused her to lose the air she’d just inhaled in a violent sputter. She could see the bubbles, feel the shock from the cold water, and the even icier ‘hands’ of the Poltergeist preventing her from pushing up and backward out of the tub.

Just as unexpectedly the weight was gone, and a strong grip around her blouse collar and arm lifted her and helped heave her over the edge and onto the tile floor. She sat in stunned silence for a moment, caught in a surge of adrenaline and her memories.

When she’d been five her parents had taken her into the surf off Brighton Beach during a family holiday. The water had seemed just as cold, and a wave knocked the three off their feet plunging her under water. Thirty seconds of mind-rending terror made short work of any future activities in or around water. She still had nightmares of the near-drowning and panic attacks. Now she was having the night terror again while awake.

“Hey, are you all right?” 

She looked up into the face of her rescuer and screamed. Judging by how quickly he released her arm and stepped back, that was not the thanks he was expecting. She scrambled to her feet, water sloshing around her and ran out to the main castle entrance hall, gasping for air. She did not stop until she’d crossed the courtyard, and sprinted to the outer gates, her breath shaky and compensating for a painful stitch in her side. Not thinking about anything except putting as much distance between the water and herself, she closed her eyes tightly and envisioned the doorstep of the Order safe house, 12 Grimmauld Place. 

With a loud crack, she moved instantly from Hogwarts to London. 

Without a pause, she pushed her way into the narrow hallway and crept past the portrait. As she rounded the turn to the stairs not looking at the glassy-eyed elf heads, she heard a second set of Apparition cracks followed by a string of curses and screams from Mrs Black. Not stopping to see who was coming after her she pounded up the stairs to the first floor landing, pausing again to catch her breath.

“Miss Granger, I need to speak with you!” McGonagall ordered loudly over the din of Mrs Black’s screeching portrait. That Seventh-Year swot must have found a Prefect or Teacher and reported her frantic dash off school grounds. Just bloody wonderful. Of course they’d known exactly where she would go.

“Get away from me, you don’t understand!” Hermione ran down the first floor hallway and into the guest bedroom making no effort to move quietly.

***Slam***

Frantically Hermione wrenched from her mind’s eye the image of a heavy iron dungeon door with about twenty locks latching shut while commanding, _“Colloportus!”_ A soft blue glow briefly illuminated the bedroom door as the spell was absorbed by the wooden door.

Barricaded in the small bedroom using a strong door charm, at a protected house inhabited by highly skilled Witches and Wizards was still not enough to feel safe. Damn Peeves to the depths of Poltergeist hell! Well, Peeves and the Seventh Year boy who’d grabbed her arm to pull her out of the water. 

Leaning against the door, gasping for air, but not able to calm down yet she tried to think of any other protective measure she missed, her eye falling on an antique highboy dresser. _‘It was a miracle I didn’t splinch,’_ she acknowledged, still breathing shallowly, the rasping loud in the bedroom as she pulled out her wand.

***Knock on the door***

“Miss Granger? Are you all right?” Minerva McGonagall called through the wooden door, tone pitched to soothe but impatience leaking out. “Miss Granger? _Alohomora_ ,” the witch cast, followed by a sound of puzzled surprise when the door would not open. 

_’Maybe it’s not wise to use a locking charm that can be defeated by a simple_ Alohomora _,’_ Hermione’s silent thoughts raced. _‘Or more likely it’s because in the time it took you to cast the counter charm, I had the time to shove this highboy in front of the door,’_ she snarked to herself. ‘ _Alohomora_ ***that*** ’.

Hermione had forgotten about the second Apparition crack. 

“Severus, could you help me with this, please?” she heard the older woman ask.

_‘Oh, crap,’_ thought Hermione as she felt her spell instantly dissipate under a strong magical command.

***Thud***

The highboy dresser scraped against the wooden floorboards as the door was shoved slowly but resolutely open, taking the hapless piece of furniture along for the journey and knocking her on her butt. She had no choice but to scuttle backward away from the doorway gap like a crab seeing the chef carrying forth a steaming pot of water. Two heads, followed by torsos came into view until there was enough room to slide in past the makeshift obstruction.

“Hermione, what on earth is going on?” her Head of House cried, wringing her hands and radiating worry. The man who featured prominently in her mind very recently did neither of those things. He simply accessed the situation, stepped around McGonagall, and strode to where Hermione sat. Offering a black-clad arm he reached down and pulled her up to face him.  

“Well, Miss Granger?” he said simply.

Unplanned, unexpected, and most unwise, she found herself stepping forward on tip toes and throwing her arms around her Potions Professor’s neck. Breathing rapidly, she buried her face into the buttoned divide of his vest settling as far as possible into his outer robes for cover. She felt rather than heard a deeply-throated squawk rumble in his chest as she screwed her eyes shut and recalled The Rules of Grounding her therapist drilled into her to do for a panic attack.

Out loud she said, “Five things I can see are black, cloth, black cloth, embroidered stitching, and… **buttons**.”

_’Oh, good Hermione, that sure sounded intelligent,’_ she chided herself silently. 

“Four things I can touch are fabric, skin,” (at that she dug her fingers into the back of his neck tighter and inserted her fingertips under his collar to touch even more warm flesh, lowering his head slightly whilst raising her own), “the floor,” (she tapped her foot spastically for a beat against the wood), “and breath on my face.”

She slowly ran her hand down one black-clad shoulder. “Three things I can hear are my breathing, your heartbeat, and the rasp of my hand against your clothing.”

She took a deep breath pressing her face against his vest, turning her head to let her cheek feel his warmth. His arms slid gently around her waist lending support.

“Two things I can smell are greenwood, and… camomile tea leaves.” 

Hermione was breathing slower now, she could feel her muscles relax, and her voice return to a normal, reasoned tone. “And one thing I can taste…” she whispered into the stillness of the room, hesitating, debating if she had the courage to continue.

“Go on, Miss Granger, finish,” he said softly, still allowing her left hand to clutch his neck, her body to press up against his. 

She hesitated, looking back up to meet the knowing dark eyes of Severus Snape.

“…are the fifty points I just lost from Gryffindor for doing ***this*** ,” she finished, pressing her mouth fully to his.

The epic snog was well worth the loss of points.


End file.
